


(Not So) Secret (Not So) Santa

by NahaFlowers



Category: The Good Place (TV)
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Gen, Kid Fic, Michael is literally Eleanor's Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 08:26:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17260886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NahaFlowers/pseuds/NahaFlowers
Summary: Written for Hannahhasafact for the good place secret santa 2018. The prompt was 'what if'... My rather loose interpretation of that was "What if Michael decided to be Santa Claus for little Eleanor"?Hope you enjoy!





	(Not So) Secret (Not So) Santa

"Santa?"

A four-year-old Eleanor trotted out into the hallway and stood staring up at Michael, who was a demon, and decidedly not Santa Claus. He had, however, dressed all in red, and had added a white beard for effect. And he was leaving Eleanor presents.

He decided to go along with it for now.

"Yes," he said. "Shouldn't you be in bed, young lady?"

Eleanor put her hands on her hips, as imposing as a four year old could be. "Shouldn't you be saying 'Ho, ho, ho'?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. Then she registered the scene in front of her, the stocking full of gifts. "Are those presents for me?" she asked.

"Ho ho ho, yes they are young lady," he said, trying to sound more Santa Claus-y. Eleanor looked even more disbelieving, but didn't accuse him of faking it. "But you'd better run along to bed now, and pretend you didn't see me, or they might just disappear!"

Eleanor gasped and nodded seriously, turning tail and running back to her bedroom, not before throwing a "Night, Santa," over her shoulder.

She woke up in the morning and the presents were all there, and her parents couldn't quite hide their surprise. That was the most magical Christmas of Eleanor's life.

* * *

 

Eleanor at 8 was a much more cynical person. Her parents had broken up and she was honestly not really expecting her mom to get her anything for Christmas this year, let alone her dad. Still, she was excited for Santa.

"Oh, honey, you know Santa Claus isn't real, right?"

Eleanor just glared at her mom and said nothing.

Christmas Eve came and Eleanor was so excited she couldn't sleep. Midnight came, and went, and Eleanor could hear nothing, until,

"Ow! That damn mantelpiece always gets me!"

Eleanor smothered a giggle in her pillow. She hadn't thought Santa Claus said words like "damn" but maybe he did, just when he thought kids couldn't hear him.

She thought about going out to say hi, since she had slept through and missed him the past few years, but she decided against it. She knew he was there, filling her stocking up with presents that she would never get from her parents. She fell asleep happy.

She woke early, despite not sleeping till gone 1am the previous night, and rushed out to see a bulging stocking on the fireplace. She couldn't resist calling her mom. 

"What is it, sweetie?" Donna snapped, trudging into the room and rubbing sleep from her eyes. "Mommy was sleeping."

Eleanor pointed at the fireplace, eyes shining. "Santa came," she said smugly. 

She barely registered Donna's utter shock (honestly, why was she shocked? This had been happening every year. Perhaps before she had thought it was Eleanor's dad?), as she darted forward to take down her stocking and began taking presents out of it. The haul this year included a huge Sam the Eagle puppet and Eleanor blushed even though she was smiling so wide it could barely fit on her face and hugged him to her chest, wondering how he knew. Then again, he was Santa Claus, thought Eleanor - he probably knew everything. 

Donna caught on after this and claimed that she was leaving the presents in Eleanor's stocking, making fun of her when Eleanor voiced any remaining belief in Santa. Eleanor just frowned, not believing her, but her belief in Santa was waning too. 

* * *

By the time she was twelve, it seemed like she was the only person her age who believed (not that she voiced this belief to any of her friends). Christmas was more of a chore now than anything else. 

Also, her mom had a new boyfriend. Which meant Eleanor spent Christmas Eve, like several evenings before that, unable to get to sleep over the sounds of her mom and said boyfriend having sex.

A little after the noises from her mom's room had finally quietened down, she heard footsteps approaching the fireplace in the lounge. She thrilled for a moment, before realising it was probably just her mom's boyfriend getting himself a midnight snack or something after all their...activity. Eleanor scrunched her eyes shut in disgust. 

A few minutes later, however, she heard a familiar voice talking to himself - and it wasn't the voice of her mom's boyfriend. Determined to get to the bottom of this whole Santa thing once and for all, she slid out of bed and tiptoed down the hall. 

"Are you really Santa?" she asked once she'd arrived in front of the man stuffing her stocking with gifts once again. 

Michael jumped, not having heard Eleanor approach. He clutched his chest, where his heart would be if he had one, and let out a little scream. "Ah! Oh, Eleanor! You scared me!" he said. 

Eleanor wasn't fazed. "So, are you really Santa? Or are you just some guy who sneaks into my house every year? Because that's kind of creepy, dude." She folded her arms and tapped her foot in expectation, and Michael caught a glimpse of the woman he knew she would turn into. 

He sighed. He couldn't lie to her, not really, not when she asked straight out. Oh, how the times had changed, considering how he had lied to her for 300 years in the Fake Good Place. 

"No," he said. "I'm not Santa." Eleanor's eyes widened slightly, but she said nothing. "My name is Michael. Think of me as...your guardian angel, if you will."

Eleanor snorted. "A guardian angel called Michael?" 

"What? What's wrong with Michael?" 

Eleanor shook her head. "I knew you couldn't be Santa," she said. She sounded a little sad though, wistful in a way only a twelve year old made to grow up too quickly could. "How come you visit me on Christmas eve then? Other girls don't have a guardian angel called Michael, or anyone apart from their parents and family or whoever giving them gifts." She thought for a moment. "Or if they do they've been pretty quiet about it."

Michael grinned. "Or maybe there's thousands like me but they keep quiet about it because they think nobody will believe them."

Eleanor looked sceptical. "Yeah right." She looked at him searchingly. "Why do you come?" she asked, steepling her fingers and waiting for an answer; and Michael knew from the expression on her face that she would wait for as long as it takes. 

Michael sighed. He needed to play this one carefully. He couldn't give too much away about the future (that would really fork everything up when it came to the whole Good Place/Bad Place thing, not to mention what it might do to Eleanor, to her psyche and personality and development, especially at such a tender, important, vulnerable age). But he couldn't act like he was doing this because he felt pity for Eleanor, God forbid. 

In the end he just said, "Do you really need a reason for someone to give you presents? Free stuff, Eleanor!" 

Eleanor squinted suspiciously for a second, but then shrugged. "Guess not. Stuff I like too." She paused a moment. "How did you know about Sam the Eagle?" She added in a whisper, blushing, mortified. 

Michael winked at her and she blushed a little pinker, thinking of how she still slept with the puppet every night. "Let's just say, I've known you for a very long time, Eleanor Shellstrop."

"But I barely know you...wait, are you like, my godfather or long lost uncle or something?" 

"Something like that," Michael said, presenting her with a bulging stocking he had been hiding behind his back. Eleanor's eyes widened. "Merry Christmas, Eleanor," he said, and almost as soon as he'd said it, he was gone. 

"Merry Christmas, Michael," she whispered to the now empty doorway. 

* * *

 Christmas Eve for 14 year old Eleanor meant a late shift at the grocery store. 2 months in her own place and she was already behind on rent. But she had her freedom right? At least she didn't live with either of her parents anymore. 

Exhausted, pushing open the door to her flat at 1am, she didn't expect anyone to be there. Her roommates had families they had gone to see for the holidays. She had forgotten about Michael, and even if she had remembered, she wouldn't have expected him. He didn't even know where she lived now. 

She should have known that a little thing like that wouldn't stop that white-haired twerp. 

She didn't even flinch when she entered the lounge and found herself faced with a familiar sight - Michael, back to her, loading a stocking (where did he get it from? She was pretty certain she hadn't bothered bringing one with her) with presents, oblivious (as far as she could tell) to his presence. She stared, dead-eyed, at him for the few moments it took for him to feel her stare on his back and register her presence. He turned to face her with a grin.

"Eleanor!" he said, a little too cheerfully. "Happy Christmas!"

Eleanor continued to stare before coming to her senses and shaking her head. "You need to go, dude. How did you even get in here?"

Michael raised his eyebrows. "That never bothered you the last few times."

Eleanor shrugged. "Yeah, well, I was a kid. Plus, mom was never too good at making sure the door was locked. I definitely locked it before I went to work because we get a lot of weirdos round here." She gestured at Michael. "Case in point."

"Why, thanks, Eleanor," he said, voice dripping in sarcasm. "I was just trying to carry on our yearly tradition," he said pleadingly.

"Your yearly tradition, you mean," she said. "I never asked you to break into my house, give me stuff I didn't ask for and get your gross old man fingers all over my stuff!" She took a deep breath, clenching her eyes shut to force back tears. "You need to leave," she said again.

"All right, all right," he said, throwing his hands up placatingly. "I'll go." He gestured at the stocking. "Do you want me to take-"

"No, no," said Eleanor, interrupting. "I'm keeping the free stuff." She sighed, looking Michael in the eyes. "Just...leave, and don't come back." She closed her eyes, turned away, and fiercely, almost to herself, said "I don't need you."

If Michael had a heart, it would have broken for her. "OK," he said. "I'm going now." He walked to the door and reached for the handle, but just as he was about to open it, he changed his mind. He couldn't leave like this. He turned around.

"What, dude, what?" said Eleanor, desperate for him to leave so she could go to her crappy room and drink herself to sleep.

Michael sighed. Then he smiled. "Maybe I'll see you again," he said.

"Dude, I told you-"

"No, I won't come and visit you again, you made it pretty clear that you don't want me to. But...maybe I'll see you in another life."

Eleanor was so bemused that she forgot to be angry and bitter for a moment. "What is _that_ supposed to mean, weirdo?"

"You'll see," said Michael, and he winked at her before heading out into the cold.

And he left Eleanor smiling - bitter, sardonic, disbelieving - but smiling all the same.

Maybe that's what Christmas was all about. 

 

 


End file.
